A New Poem

And she can’t be stopped
The way her hands thirst of the crimson
Oozing out of the limping body
‘Til its warmth had perished
She could only quietly sneer
As a flash of light shine upon the fear stricken
Faces of her victims’
Friends and kin
Yet no one would point a finger
To this seemingly innocent
Dame, for she could do no harm
Only dwelling in the instance
Which happened upon
This silent town
So naive
So trusting
So unsuspecting
That the hunter is within their midst
So cunning, so crafty
That no sooner than the next nightfall
Tears of bloodshed
Would once again
Be heard

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